This I Believe: The Autobiography of Ellen Beacham

This I Believe: The Autobiography of Ellen Beacham This I Believe: The Autobiography of Ellen Beacham

Status: Finished

Genre: Memoir

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Memoir

Summary

My name is Ellen Elizabeth Beacham (El for short) and this is, obviously, my story. While it may not be fully considered as rated X, this autobiography may not be appropriate for some. Mine is not a pretty story, though it is completely true to my memory. Critique is most welcome.

Summary

My name is Ellen Elizabeth Beacham (El for short) and this is, obviously, my story. While it may not be fully considered as rated X, this autobiography may not be appropriate for some. Mine is not a pretty story, though it is completely true to my memory. Critique is most welcome.

Chapter10 (v.1) - Black Sheep

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 22, 2013

Reads: 233

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 22, 2013

A A A

A A A

While I can’t speak for my siblings, I’m sure school was never easy for any of us, and, obviously, religion wasn’t exactly our forte either. If it was the academics, it was the social constructs within our small gathering. Those of us who received good grades tended to falter in social interactions. For the rest, however, neither came easily. Cassie was married by the time she made slow advancements in her education. Hannah struggled with school on such a level that most teachers seemed to have given up on her. All of us were socially awkward for the most part. Timmy managed to find some friends who connected with him. I had a few friends that I would occasionally consider best friends, though I could never say that I fully belonged.

I think, on some levels, that I was the blackest sheep in the family. At least it always felt as such. Most times it didn’t bother me, because there was nothing anyone outside of my family could say to hurt me. I was the only child, in the church and in the family, to injure myself so aggressively and noticeably. It didn’t help that everyone knew of the incidents with Timmy, while we were being taught that I was a sinner because of it. There had been a couple of members of the church who had attempted suicide, but I was the only one that I know of that showed warning signs that could not be ignored. Everyone knew what to do regarding those who actually attempted suicide, but not what to do when someone was on the verge of trying. It was easy to revoke the status of those who sinned by trying to take their own lives. I assume it was harder to watch someone, especially a young girl with a history and a future, lose themselves in the dark world of pure self-destruction. I’m sure that my obsession with mental illness didn’t help.

As I was slowly falling down the rabbit hole, there were only two people I felt I could talk to, Nicole and Bryan. Nicole was one of those girls I could call a best friend. We shared the same kind of fucked up imaginings. When we were younger we would play many make-believe games involving imagined sexual occurrences with non-existing men, all their own brand of disturbing. We probably would have gotten shipped off somewhere until we repented if any of the adults, or even our other friends, had found out. One of Nicole’s sisters tried to kill herself, around the time I started to get really bad. Nicole understood a lot of what was going on with me. I was difficult to handle most of the times, but she cared. I never doubted that she cared. She was also loyal enough not to rat me out.

Bryan was pretty much the same, except we shared an odd bond. Bryan had molested his younger sister and spent time in a group home. He returned to the church for one reason, Nicole. They started dated immediately after he was released and, eventually, got married. Since Bryan had spent time away from the church, he had experience with reality, and had even known a cutter, making him and Nicole an effective support system, for the most part.

I can say with full confidence that no one I knew at the time cared nearly as much about me than Bryan and Nicole. During those years, however, I rarely appreciated what they were doing for me, and always wanted more. Personally, I’m surprised they put up with my craziness that long. We mainly talked through Instant Messaging, since I was better at expressing myself through writing. The only problem with that was I tended to be fairly ruthless and blunt, often trying to scare them and get more attention. It wasn’t that I lied about anything that I felt or thought or did, it was just that I often would manipulate what I said to ensure they would be worried. It never even occurred to me how cruel I was being, when they were already doing so much.

Nicole and Bryan were always there for me, despite dealing with their own problems. They often did such wonderful things for me that I wonder how they managed everything going on, since I, of course, was no help. They would often invite me to spend time with them, even though they must have wanted time to themselves. On the year that I left Manti, they organized a party for me, celebrating six months without cutting. By then everyone knew about my destructive habit, though maybe not about the real reason for the party. They got junk food, let me pick any movie I wanted to watch (a horror, of course), and convinced the elders of the church to let us use the school projector. It was the most anyone had ever done for me. They were those kinds of friends though, always doing for me what no one would/could.

I never really felt that talking to Nicole and Bryan was not an option. I always felt safe talking to them, being honest with them. I never felt I couldn’t cry in front of them, even though in the later years, I tried to hold it back. They were the ones who would come find me whenever I was hiding somewhere in the school buildings. They were the ones who always noticed any little injury of mine, and who always knew that the injury wasn’t accidental. Try as I might, I never was able to convince them that I didn’t do it. They knew me too well. They noticed when I started eating less. They noticed when I would pretend to eat something only to drop it in the trash when I thought no one was looking. They knew that whenever I hid in the bathroom I was likely cutting. They knew when I needed company but didn’t want it. They were the best help I could have asked for, and it’s a shame how I treated them when they were less than perfect.

 

Besides Nicole and Bryan, our little group (the only connection being that we were in the same grade from day one) consistently consistent of the following: AJ, Lindsey, Lizzy Simmons, Lorianne, Mikelle, George, and very occasionally, Io. Mikelle left the church officially around the time her two brothers killed themselves. George left a bit before or after I did. AJ, Lindsey, and Lizzy still remain in the church, to my knowledge, which is not surprising seeing as how they’re parents are in the “inner circle”. Io wasn’t considered by many to actually be a part of the church, but he usually managed to appear for any “fun” activities. Lorianne was always the dreamer of the group, the girl less grounded than the rest of us. She’s also the first girl I had a crush on, a secret that I only recently admitted. I was different in every possible way, more so, it seemed, than the rest of my family. There was always so little that kept me in the group that I knew that it couldn’t possibly last long. Some day they would turn their backs on me, and I would be left alone. In fact, there were times when they did just that, though it never lasted long. The plot-twist was that I left before they could leave me, and, only two states away, I finally found a misfit group to which I belonged. Nevertheless, the world was far from letting me live in peace.

 


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